Chapter 34
BETTY
The smell of woodsmoke fills our home.
It is a rich, warm scent, mingling with the sharp, clean fragrance of the pine boughs Threk laid over the massive new hearth beam this morning.
He is stoking the fire, the red-orange light of the flames catching the new, faint silver in his long, black hair.
The fire highlights the hard, proud lines of his Orcish face, a face that has become more familiar and more beloved to me than my own.
A year ago, this scent would have sent me spiraling. It was the smell of terror, of loss, of the night my world burned down and my guilt began. I would have been twisting my hair, my stomach a cold, sick knot, my lungs tight with panic.
Now, I just breathe it in. It is the scent of the suru rabbit roasting for our Christmas feast. It is the sturdy, new home he built for us, a home that doubles the size of my old, cramped hovel. It is warmth, and it smells like him.
It’s safety.
Outside, a gentle, perfect snow is falling on Oakhaven. I look through the new, glass-paned window—a prize Threk traded a full, magnificent suru buck for in the next village over. Oakhaven is not the downtrodden, gray place I once knew, a village of ghosts clinging to survival. It is thriving.
The palisade he rebuilt is a wall of thick, dark logs, not the rotting sticks we had before, and it stands strong against the wind.
The storehouses are full from the hunts he leads, his skill as a warrior now a boon that feeds us all.
The fear that used to hang over us like a shroud has been replaced by a quiet, sturdy hope. He is their protector. Their Orc.
A small, grunting cry comes from the cradle beside my chair. It is a new, beautiful sound, and my heart aches with a love so fierce it feels like the Wildspont’s light.
I lean over and pick her up, my movements slow and sure.
Our daughter.
I hold her against my chest, her small, warm body a perfect, impossible weight. She is beautiful. She has my pale skin, though it carries a faint, lovely green undertone, like a new leaf in spring. She has my nose. She is so small against my chest.
But she is his.
Her ears taper to delicate points. Her eyes, blinking open in the firelight, are not my blue. They are a deep, intelligent, familiar hazel. And when she yawns, a tiny, squeaking sound, I see them.
Two tiny, white tusks, no bigger than a grain of rice, peeking from her upper gums.
My heart breaks with how much I love her. I kiss her soft, warm head, and she grunts again, that same rumbling sound her father makes in his sleep.
"She is hungry," a deep, rumbling voice says from behind me.
Threk turns from the fire. He is a green-skinned giant in our sturdy home, his presence filling the room, but he moves with a warrior's impossible, silent grace. He has been home for so long that his size no longer registers as a threat; it is just him. It is comfort.
He chose us. He chose me.
Now, he walks to me, his hazel eyes warm in the firelight, soft with a love that still makes my knees weak. He dwarfs us both, a mountain of love and protection.
He leans down. He kisses our daughter's forehead, his small, sharp tusks brushing gently against her soft skin.
"My little star," he rumbles, his voice thick with pride.
He kisses me.
It is not the reverent, confused kiss of a monster, or the desperate, frantic kiss of a man in danger. It is the slow, deep, possessive kiss of my mate. My husband. A kiss that tastes of woodsmoke and safety and forever.
He breaks the kiss, but rests his forehead against mine.
I look down at our daughter, safe in my arms, and up at my Orc, his love a shield around us.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow is Christmas Day. After the village shares gifts, we will walk to the grove at the edge of the woods. Threk will carry our daughter. I will carry a wreath of pine and fialon berries.
I am not going to atone. I am not going to whisper apologies into the snow.
I am going to introduce my family to my parents. I am going to tell them I am happy. I am going to tell them I am living.
I lean my head against Threk's massive, solid chest, breathing in his scent, feeling the deep, steady thrum of his heart.
I am safe. I am loved. I am whole.
"I am home."